Undeniable
by starlenia
Summary: Sherlock and John are best friends, they are working on a new Ripper case when Irene steps into the picture and jealousy causes John to realize how he really feels. yeah...it's a good read, this summary is just fail...- -JohnXSherlock fanfiction!
1. Ripper

DISCLAIMER: i do not own anything BBC or Sherlock. this is simply a fan-service document.

I will not be updating this normally, it is only an escape from my other fanfictions. once i am finished with those it will be updated regularly. Thankyou for reading!

* * *

_Men and women were falling all around him as John desperately clutched his gun in his hand. The dusty ground was splashed with blood as he raised his gun and shot the Afghanistan soldier running towards him. The man fell to the ground with a cry of pain then lay there twitching and breathing shallowly. It didn't make John feel too horrible to have killed, he was used to it…horribly used to it…but still it didn't feel like the right thing._

_He had mostly steeled himself against his feelings. To do this…To make a difference, be a hero. But heroes don't exist. Yes…Sherlock had told him that…_

"_John…"His eyes snapped back to the man lying on the ground, and almost instantly his walls proved to have faults enough to crumble around him. _

"_Oh G—" He fought back the bile rising in his throat as he looked down at his friend. "Oh my God…" The tears stung hotly in his eyes as he stared with wide eyes at the most brilliant man he had ever known. _

_**Possibly the most brilliant man in the entire world. **_

_How did __**he**__ get here? When did he get here? Surely he hadn't come with John... And why was he dressed in— No…He wasn't wearing anything other than his casual wear. _

"_Sherlock." He didn't like the way his voice cracked when he said his friend's name. _

_John sat down beside his friend. He was a doctor, he could fix this. He could still save him!_

"_John, don't." The curly haired man whispered before Watson was even able to touch him. _

"_Why not?"_

"_It would be a waste of energy." _

"_No—!"_

"_Yes."He insisted. If Sherlock said it would be a waste that meant there was nothing that John could do… _

_**Why**__?_

"_Why are you here?" Watson asked, causing the other man's lips twitched up to form a smile. _

"_Why are we all here?" His moonlike eyes had begun to glaze over, his breathing stopped. _

"_SHERLOCK!"

* * *

_

John awoke gasping. Another one of those horrible dreams, and this time it had involved Sherlock. Why had it involved Sherlock? Why did he—

"You had a nightmare." Sherlock entered the room with that overly confident air of his, and sat down on a chair that—John didn't _remember_ being there beside his bed before.

"Yes." John sighed. "But it was no different than usual."

"Wrong." Sherlock stated, placing a news paper down on the bedside table. The front page was an odd article, saying something about the Ripper… Sherlock waved his hand in front of Johns face, a frown forming on his lips. "It's only proper to listen when one is talking." John looked at Sherlock and rolled his eyes.

"How is that wrong Sherlock?" He said, a smile playing over his lips.

" It was plenty different than usual, because this one had you tossing and turning more, thus the disheveled hair, the tired eyes crusted with tears," John felt his the crusted remains of the tears himself as Sherlock pointed it out. The dark haired man continued. "And the way that you were moaning…" He paused, allowing room for questioning.

"How-"

"You saw the chair by the bed yourself my dear Jonathan, put two and two together,"

"You were watching me sleep?"

"I was bored, very bored." _Well_, he guessed, _it's better than putting bullets through the wall_… "You were reacting differently this dream so I wanted to try and see if I could figure out what you were dreaming of. Simple as that." He took a breath and scanned Watson again. One could hardly notice when he scanned them, his eyes barely seemed to move, and yet the angel faced man saw everything. "Now, you were dreaming about Afghanistan. You had killed someone, or someone had been killed in front of you, but obviously it was someone you cared about." His piercing gray eyes seemed to bore right through Watson's.

"How do you—"

"Humans give a lot of hints as to what they are dreaming about when they dream it. Did you kill _me_ John?" John's eyes widened slightly, causing the other man to smirk. "So you did!" He seemed to get a thrill to this fact. "When you awoke you looked horribly pale, the kind of pale one has when they have seen a death they did not wish to see. Since you have killed many I can deduce that it was someone you cared about. When you saw me, your eyes widened slightly, and your shoulder's relaxed. You had been muttering a name in your sleep I could not be sure that is was my name, but when I saw your reaction I knew that it had been mine."

"You watched me sleep…" John couldn't help but find the fact somewhat creepy, to have someone looming over you, studying your face… Sherlock growled.

"Yes. I already stated why."

John shrugged and began to get up with a sigh.

"Black, thank you." The detective smiled and stood up along with Watson.

"I wasn't going to ask if you wanted tea."

"I know. But you were getting up to make yourself something to eat. You stomach had growled, and you got up with a sigh that said 'time for breakfast' I would like some tea."

"What do you say?" The other man looked at his friend.

"Thank you John. I want black tea, with orange."

"And…The magic _words_?" John hinted.

"Abracadabra? Alakazam? Simsimsalabim? John, I have no time for your word games."

"Please, Sherlock. The word is _please_."

"That is not a magic word John."

"You'd be surprised."

"Hmmm…."

* * *

They stood by the dead body of a woman just over 20. She'd been shot, multiple times through the stomach, down to the uterus, and then there were the cuts…. It was a horrible thing to look at. John nearly lost his lunch when he saw the woman lying face up, dead on the floor, the lower half of her body mutilated. Her head of turned to her left shoulder, her palms facing upwards, left leg extended, right leg bent, and two long gashes across her throat. The woman's intestines had been drawn out of her body and placed above her right shoulder some parts between her body, and her left arm.

From what John could see, the death had been immediate. The mutilations inflicted after her death.

From what he could piece together about her, she had been pretty, long blonde curls, the back of her head covered in blood from the pile that had spread on the floor. Her clothes were laced and face heavily painted, though pushed up past her navel. Could she have been a prostitute?

Sherlock of course had been excited. Ecstatic even over this new case. They had called the case the new Ripper. Now, as he scanned the body, pulling out his microscope, touching her, his mind working a mile a minute…

"Not a prostitute." He murmured, as he closed the microscope.

"What do you mea—"

"You haven't moved her yet, she is wearing a wig. The perfume on her says flirting, not whoring. The makeup is carefully put on, expensive brand. Definitely not the kind of money she would make as a whore. A drinker maybe, thus the strong scent of alcohol on her… Now… Where is her purse?" Sherlock looked around impatiently.

"She has on a wig?"

"Yes, whores do not need wigs; they would not remain on, and therefore serve as useless. _Unless_ she was trying to disguise herself, but what kind of a whore would need to do that? Unless she wasn't a whore at all. By the quality of the wig, it is bought by someone with money. She _has_ money. She is from out of country, the tan line on her ring finger says that she is married; when she came here she took the ring off. She came here recently, about a week ago if I am right, and I am always right. Now the question stands, why was she on the run? No, she'd had plans to say here longer. Working in disguise, maybe she is an agent of some sort."

"The U.S was sending over a few agents to work on a case."

"Fantastic, she is one of them. Now, her purse."

"She didn't have one with her."

"Lies, the skirt she is wearing is meant to be matched with a purse, now where…ah," He suddenly stopped, his grey eyes widening slightly as he appeared to have found it. Sherlock strode past the detectives and pushed back a pile of boxes that had fallen to the floor. Behind the boxes lay a purse which he picked up carefully in his pale hands. Turning it over again, he knelt down and emptied the contents of it onto the floor.

"Sherlock what are you—"

"Shhh! I am thinking. Phone—"his hand shot out and he grabbed hold of the phone that had belonged to her. Not surprisingly, it was an Iphone. Everyone seemed to have one of those nowadays. He slid the lock open, and then was confronted with another password. Quickly he entered a pin and it came unlocked. How he had known what the pin was…It was anyone's guess. "Recently acquired phone, most likely as a part of her role, there was a hint. It was an easy password. She probably had a bad memory." He went on mumbling as he ran his fingers over the screen, and then placed it on speaker phone as he called someone.

The phone rang, and then was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Is this her husband?"

"Who is this?"

"Yes, it is." He smiled, but then that smile fell. "Your wife was working for the C.S.I was she not? Yes, it seems that she got into a bit of trouble here in England."

There was silence for a moment on the other end.

"What do you know about Kate?" the man asked, his voice becoming more defensive.

Rather than stating all of the facts that Sherlock had deduced, he simply took a deep breath.

"I know that she was murdered. I am Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. We have just found her body." The line was silent again, before the man spoke, his voice broken sounding.

"She's dead…?"

"Yes, murdered, now I need you to tell me—"

There was sobbing from the other end, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes and sigh impatiently. He really had no patience for mortal emotions.

"Sherlock…Maybe you should give us the phone…" Said man looked up at the other detectives through thick lashes. He sighed and handed them the phone continuing to look through the purse, and when no one was looking, he pocketed a few items.

"Well," He sighed, getting up. "I suppose it is time for us to go now John."

John looked over at his partner, and left the body of the woman to follow the curly haired man out of the room.

"There is more isn't there?"

Sherlock smiled that ever so brilliant smile that he seemed to only show to John as his eyes twinkled.

"Oh much, much more~" He mused. "Did you hear that man's reaction to her death?"

"Yes. He was crying, perfectly reasonable—"

"Wrong john, those were fake tears, not earnest ones. Now why would he try and fake tears? And the sounds in the back ground, yes… He is in London. But why is he in London? He is supposed to be in the U.S far away from his wife. And yet he is here? A coincidence? I think not. But there is still murder…why did he do it?"

"Why was she shot there?" John murmured, continuing the thought. His partner turned on his heel, his grin growing wider as he placed his hand on Watson's shoulder.

"Precisely! There are many other places that one can shoot to kill someone, and he chose there. Maybe she was with child." He said absentmindedly, as if he didn't truly believe that himself.

"Presuming the husband killed her…maybe it wasn't his child."

"And he was jealous? No… He wouldn't have gone that far to-or would he? But why would he cover it the way he did, no finger prints John. Maybe he was trying to give a scare. Maybe the style of killing was meant to be like the Ripper's. _Why, _John, would he need to kill his own wife? Was it because she was dressed as a prostitute and it would be simple to give the Ripper scare, but…Ahhhh…" His eyes widened slightly. "But if she knew something. Something that he didn't want her to know…"

"What could she know?"

"She was an agent John… there is a lot that she could have known…The question being, what did she know that he didn't _want_ her to know?"

"Well…" John murmured, thinking for a moment. He really had no idea how Sherlock could come up with solutions so quickly, maybe it was because John always tended to over think things. Why was Sherlock even asking him these things? He probably already knew… What was the case she came here from the U.S for? "Why would they send an agent here when we have agents of our own?"

"Yes John!" Sherlock turned on his heel, letting go of John's shoulders. Without the other mans hands there is was suddenly cold… "The case! Based on the governments website agents were coming to investigate—"

"Website?"

Sherlock sighed. "I hacked it, bored." Because, 'bored' seemed to be justification enough with Sherlock…

"Nice."

"Yes, isn't it? Now, the files said that a man came here from the U.S. He's our killer, and she had been following him, thus the agents coming here when they have _me_. He had a past history of killing… whores and drunks, tearing them apart, even that woman. Did you _smell_ the alcohol on her?" He smiled. "Impersonating the Ripper... But he's made a mistake." Sherlock grinned. "He knows too much,"

No, john hadn't smelt anything but the putrid odor of death.

"Too much?" He questioned.

"Yes john." He raised a hand to hail a cab.

Really, John was surprised that he didn't just—

Impatient, Sherlock jumped in front of the cab coming down the road.

_Of course_

"He would have stopped, Sherlock."

The dark haired man turned around to face John and moved away from the front of the vehicle, opening the door and sliding in.

"No he wouldn't have. Do you really think I would go throwing myself in front cabs for the thrill of it?"

"Knowing you? Probably." He stated, sliding into the seat beside the curly haired man. Sherlock smiled at him and then turned his head to the window as he told the cabbie their address.

The two men sat in silence... John decided to think back to the woman's body. Her organs placed in the same exact spots the Ripper had placed HIS victim's. He'd done nearly a _perfect _replication of the killing of Catherine Eddows. No signs of struggle… How could a victim not struggle when in that position? It wasn't as easy as movies made it out to be to slit someone's throat. Had she been drugged? Drunk perhaps? They would have to check her system. Maybe it was a poison.

But why?

…Why go through all of the effort to do that to her body when he had already killed her?

John felt sickened; it was horrible, bloody horrible that someone would do this terrible deed... For fun.

"Are you sickened by it John?"

"What?"

"You look utterly repulsed. Like you just stepped in something wretched."

"Sherlock, I just saw the mutilated body of a woman. I apologize if I am not in a cheery mood."

"Well you should snap out of it." The dark haired man said coolly, bringing his face back to the cab window. "You are a doctor after all…."

"Bloody hell Sherlock…"

"Yes John…_Bloody hell_ indeed…."

Out of the corner of John's eye he saw Sherlock's lips twist up into a devious smile.

* * *

"It was a message!" Sherlock burst into John's room, holding a cup of tea in his hand and wearing his blue robe. John groaned, and turned to the side. He did NOT want to wake up to this… "A message John, do you hear me?" Before the man decided to jump onto his bed and start hopping about John decided it would be best to give some sign that he had heard.

"Mnnn."

"Oh wake up John, there is much to do today, and the murder isn't even half of it~"

He must have solved the crime, or come bloody well close to it. That or he was on drugs…

"What message Sherlock…?"

"I investigated the killings from the U.S government's file—"

"You hacked the U.S' government?"

"Yes John. We've already gone over this. I hack very well. Something that simple was no match for me." John groaned and lay back done on his bed. "Don't you want to hear what I've figured out?"

"Wake me up later Sherlock."

"No." He crossed his arms and walked closer to John's bed. "You will get up now John."

"And why is that?"

"Because if you do not I will pour my hot tea on you and MAKE you get up. Either way you will get out of bed."

With an exaggerated sigh John sat up and slipped out of bed to be met with Sherlock's arrogant smirk.

"What are you talking about, message?"

"The killer was trying to scare someone. All of the other killings were done—"

"You mean all of that just to scare someon—"

"Interrupting people when they are speaking is rude John. Yes, people are not all as kinds and happy as you think they are. God john, get out of that glass world of yours before the walls shatter and kill you." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "now the man hired the husband. The husband was willing to do it, why? There was something in it for him. Maybe we have a ripper mafia on our hands, but I honestly doubt that. The MESSAGE John, is that he will kill as many woman as it takes until one certain woman is dead."

John stared at him, not quite sure how to respond to that…

"Why…doesn't he just kill her himself?" He asked, waiting as Sherlock brought his cup of tea to his lips and slowly took a sip of it.

"Could be that he wants her to kill herself," He smiled. "Or it could be that he can't find her. Anything really, but he wants her dead. He followed her here to England, I don't believe he was aware that he himself was being followed, he simply picked his next victim solely off of if they were the right _type_ of person."

"You mean a whore."

"Yes John, I mean a whore."

"So….do you know where he is, or how you are going to catch him?"

"We're going to use a woman." John's mouth fell open.

"Sherlock you're not going to—"

"No. john, I;m not going to dress in drag." He sighed. "I'm going to call a friend of mine to come and help." Sherlock grinned and finished his tea before getting up and walking out of the room. John just sat there. Sherlock was certainly something else… But…Who was this friend he was talking about? As far as John knew Sherlock didn't _have_ any friends other than him… He stood up and began to walk towards the kitchen.

"Sherlock, what friend?" He questioned.

The tall man turned to him with a smile.

"The very woman who the man is after, but will never catch."

"You're friends with an American whore?"

"No, I'm friends with a woman who disguised herself has a whore in order to get something or someone, what it was, God knows. But she must have provoked him into this. And she can tell me who he is." There was a slightly irritated look on Sherlock's face. "Though it most likely will not be without a price…"

John just stared at his friend, learning something new about the mysterious man…

"You…have a lady friend?"

"In a way…"

"Are you two…"

Sherlock's moonlike eyes snapped to his. "John, I told you that I am married to my work."

"You could be having an affair; it's perfectly fine to have—"

"You're an idiot." Sherlock sighed. John just sort of pouted and moved to sit in the arm chair. It wouldn't be the first time Sherlock had told him that, but it was still an annoying thing to hear. "There is nothing going on between me and her. John, I don't understand why you care so much if I have a partner. Not everyone needs one, and God knows that I'll never get anything even remotely close to a partner aside you." He shrugged.

What? John looked at him questionably. He guessed that it would be correct to say that he and Sherlock were partners, but there really wasn't anything sexual about their friendship… no. Nothing at all.

"What is her name?" John asked, trying to get the idea of him and Sherlock ever being like…_that_ out of his mind.

Sherlock sighed and moved to sit on the seat across from him.

"Irene Alder."

* * *

Alright, well i hope that you enjoyed this chapter! please review lots on this. if i get 15 reviews i will update. sound like a deal? the more reviews the sooner the update~ Merry Christmas!


	2. Irene

DISCLAIMER: .Own.

k, i hope you enjoy this chapter! i know it has been a while! i felt like writing this, so i did! haha enjoy the read!

* * *

Irene stepped into the room, black dress clinging to her curves, lace running down as sleeves with flair at the end. The end of her dress was angled on the right side showing some of her leg. Her face was painted very delicately, making her striking features stand out even more. She truly was beautiful as her long hair spilt over her shoulder in a mess of dark curls. Plump cupid bow lips glossed over with a red shine. She smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. John couldn't help but stare with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. So _this_ is the type of woman Sherlock was involved with…

"Hello my darling~" She purred, setting her catlike eyes on Sherlock. The messy haired male was grimacing. He didn't look please to see her at all…in fact, he looked like he regretted inviting her.

"What have you done?" he asked bitterly. She raised an eyebrow.

"What have I done? Why should I waste my breath telling you when you know perfectly well what I have done?" Irene laughed and plopped down on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and sticking both feet on the coffee table. It was impolite, but she didn't seem to care. She simply glanced at Sherlock the amusement shining in her eyes.

"You brought a dangerous criminal to England."

"Some men are just sooo persistent~" she rolled her eyes with a devious smile.

"This isn't some game Irene." Her catlike eyes shot up at the man's words.

"Isn't it Sherlock? We both know that it is, and that you are as amused by it as I am. You _live_ off of games like this, you long for them. You enjoy them. It is your drug, and my dear-you are terribly addicted." Irene smirked.

She called Sherlock dear….John stared at his companion. He knew what Irene said was completely true; Sherlock loved these kind of things. If it wasn't for her involvement-John guessed- Sherlock would be ecstatic. So why wasn't he? How did he feel about this woman?

"Go home Irene." Sherlock sighed.

"Oh no darling, you called me all the way to your house, could it be that I am aggravating you? Yes…you would prefer to be alone right now. " Her eyes skipped to Watson. "Well, _with_ your faithful dog that is."

"Watson is not a dog, he is a doctor."

"And your point?" She smirked. "I've met quite a few doctors, and they were very much so dogs." There seemed to be the whole implication of, _if you know what I mean~_ there, but no one commented. "The man who you are chasing now actually," She stopped, a devious gleam in her eyes as she stood up from the couch. "Oh dear, I may have said a tad bit too much~ But you wanted me to go home, so I shall leave. It was nice seeing you Sher-lock, after our last meeting I was afraid I would never see your handsome face again." She murmured, moving a delicate finger across his face. "well, adieu." She began to walk towards the door, her hips swaying seductively. John heard Sherlock take a sharp breath in.

_I do not need her… _the detective thought.

He could figure this out on his own.

But…

"Irene." The turned around, her smile arrogant.

"Sherlock."

"Will you…lure the ripper out? A favor."

"Well my darling Sherlock," She began walking back towards him. "You know that my help," She slid a hand into his jacket as she moved her face closer to his in order to whisper the last words. "doesn't come free." Sherlock grimaced, John had the sudden urge to rip her away from him and throw her out of the room, what did she think that she was doing?

"Very well then, you can sleep with John." John nearly choked as he looked at his friend.

"She can _what?_"

"Sleep with you, you are always looking for someone nice, well I can't say that she is nice, but she should serve well in bed. Based upon the way that she moves her body, so confident and—"

"Sherlock, I do not need to know about how YOU know that she is good in bed. Now if you would, I am going out. Have fun."

"Wh—John I—agh…" John was already storming out the door. Fantastic… Sherlock looked down at Irene.

"Well then, shall we make this deal?"

* * *

John was PISSED! He didn't know why he was pissed, but he was pissed. Pissed at Sherlock for being…himself! God! Did he never think of the way other people felt?

How could he even suggest that john would want to sleep with that woman?

And how did he know how she was in bed?

Had he slept with her?

_No…John…Calm down…He knows because he can deduce it…right?_

The thought of Sherlock having slept with someone seemed wrong. It was normal but…still…

Why was john even so angry at that fact? Not even angry actually, more like…upset…betrayed? But…why betrayed….? It didn't matter. He had left Sherlock with her and if he hadn't slept with her before…he was going to now…

She was attractive at least. Very attractive…

_Too attractive

* * *

_

Irene moved in closer to Sherlock.

He took a breath in, preparing himself for what happened next.

"I hate you." He growled. "So. Much."

"Oh Sherlock~ You just hate that I'm making your little boyfriend so jealous~"

"He's not—"

"Don't even try to deny it, I can see the way you look at him. And him, well he's just confused. You should probably tell him that you care about him."

"No."

"And why not?" Her hands danced over his exposed chest, fingertips barely touching his skin.

"Because." He frowned.

"So you admit it!"

"Shut up Irene, move away, and go. It is your turn."

"Are we getting defensive~? And Sherlock dear, shut doesn't go up~" She purred looking at her cards. "Royal flush. I win. Now strip~" Sherlock muttered something about her being an insolent wench and began to remove his last articles of clothing. Why was she so damn good at card games? It was annoying.

"Enough games." He muttered as he threw his pants to the side and picked up his bathrobe, and putting that on. There was no way he was going to remain naked for long. He had stripped down all the way for a moment of the clothes he had been wearing. Fair was fair. "What do you really want?"

Irene gave an exaggerated sigh and stood up.

"Finnnneee, what I really want is…. that." Sherlock followed her finger to the thing she had pointed to. It was one of the paintings he had acquired from a client, if that's what one would call them. She had been a painter, and…It was one that John had particularly liked when he had seen it, and Sherlock had told her if she insisted on paying him that was what he wanted. Of course he never told John that he had gotten it because john had liked it, he simply told him that she didn't like it anyways because it was ugly and wanted to give it to him as payment.

It was odd how Irene had picked it out, well not really. She was probably just being…herself.

"You just now picked that out randomly. Why that?" He asked.

"Must I have a valid reason to why I want something? No, I do not need to. If you wish for my help, then you will give me that."

"Fine." John would be angry with him, but it didn't matter.

* * *

John walked into his and Sherlock's apartment. He really hoped that Irene had gone home. For some reason he just couldn't stand her. Seeing her made him feel annoyed beyond reason. Even though someone like her would usually be very attractive and appealing to him.

"Sherlock?" John called. The man stepped further into the house, making his way towards Sherlock's bedroom. It was be odd if he was actually in there…he was never in his bedroom… That was when John noticed something missing. "Sherlock!" He growled.

"No need to yell john, I'm right here." The voice came from the couch were the messy haired man was sitting. Wearing only his bathrobe….which was slipping off of him a little bit, exposing his chest.

"What did you…What happened…?"

"Irene is going to help us tomorrow, she will call the killer before he kills anyone else, say that she wants to meet up with him. We will have a team waiting, and he will be put in an asylum."

Oh…He had…made a deal with her…which was why he was…only wearing his…

John felt the anger rise in him. "I'm going to bed." He announced, walking towards his room.

"Really John, are you jealous?" he paused. "You think I slept with her."

John whirled around, glaring at the detective.

"No shit Sherlock. Yes I think you slept with her."

His moonlike eyes moved over John, making the other man feel exposed because he knew that Sherlock could see everything without having to be told it.

"You are angry with me…?"

"Yes."

"And you won't listen to me. Doesn't matter, I wasn't planning on explaining myself. I should have no need to do so. Good night John."

John just stood there, looking at his companion. How was it that he was able to get him so pissed off! John HATED it when he acted that way! Of course he would have listened to an explanation…! He probably would have believed whatever Sherlock said. Whatever. John turned around and began to march towards his room, but before shutting his door he said:

"Goodnight Sherlock…"

Sherlock didn't know why, but he had found himself smiling at the softly muttered words from his companion. His friend. It warmed him a little bit, though the fact that John thought he had slept with Irene. Well that just upset him. He would never sleep with a woman like that. She was not his type in the slightest.

Sherlock scrunched his brow. He had a type? Well of course, everyone has types… what WAS his type? He supposed he liked someone loyal, someone who talked back to him a little… someone who believed in him, someone who wasn't scared of him even though they had been told that he was bound to go crazy one of these days…Some who…Damn.

The curly haired man sighed to himself and turned over on the couch.

_Someone like John…_

But a relationship would be too much of a problem. Someone could use John to get to Sherlock, and even if Sherlock didn't care about John in a way any more than friendship he didn't want him getting hurt because of him. He knew that it was perfectly alright for two men to date, but Sherlock had already turned John down when he had asked…no, he wasn't asking that night, he was just being curious. But…Sherlock had already told him that he was married to his work.

It didn't matter.

Why was he even thinking about this right now?

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes; still he couldn't keep his mind from wandering.

What was John dreaming about?

* * *

John couldn't fall asleep. It was horrible…why were these thoughts spilling though his mind so uncontrollably? He couldn't stop wondering what kind of relationship Irene and Sherlock had. He knew that he had been jealous of it. Yes…but he didn't want to admit it. Not really. Admitting that he had been jealous was…It meant…John turned over in bed with a huff. He needed to get some sleep. Most of all…He needed to get a girlfriend. Wait…he had a girlfriend. Well sort of…If Sarah really counted…well then…he needed to get laid! Damnit! Fucking desperation had him thinking about…Sherlock…

No. Just no. .…

Still…

He wanted to see him…

Sherlock waited outside in the cool morning air for Irene to pull up to their meeting place. She was late. As always. She should be here though in exactly 3.5 seconds because five minutes had almost passed. 2….1.

The cab pulled up and Sherlock smiled. Oh how he loved it when he was spot on!

Irene stepped out of the cab after whispering something-which couldn't have been very lady like-into the cabbie's ear. She looked at Sherlock, her catlike eyes scanning him.

"Hey sexy~" Sherlock made no comment; he didn't even react to her words.

"Irene." He stated looking over towards the building. "He is coming right?" She smirked.

"Oh he c—"

"I do not care for your idiotic innuendos Irene, and yes. You did call him, he is already here. Waiting for us." He continued to look at her. "What?" She asked.

"Where is your lover boy~?"

"What?"

"John Sherlock, who else would I be calling that. You obviously have feelings for him."

"That is impossible Irene. I'm Sherlock remember? I don't care about people, and people don't care about me. John is no exception."

"Then why do you keep him around?" She smirked. Sherlock was silent for a moment.

"I've actually thought of having him find somewhere else to stay."

"No you haven't."

"If he was to leave who else would pay for half of the rent?"

"You and I both know that is of no concern to you."

"Why are you still talking?"

"Admit it."

"There is nothing to admit to Irene, drop it."

"Then tell me why you didn't bring him with you."

"He was asleep."

The two of them stood there glaring at eachother for a moment. Sherlock really couldn't stand this woman…

"Have you ever thought that he might have feelings about you?" She asked.

"I think a lot. That is not something that goes through my mind often and besides it would be impossible for him to feel that way."

She sighed.

"You are so brilliant Sherlock, but when it comes to matters of the heart~" She began to walk past him. "Well I guess I will always beat you there~"

* * *

John was pissed! He couldn't believe that Sherlock had left him there! And he had even woken up a full 3 hours earlier than normal. He was up at 5 in the morning! FIVE! But Sherlock had been gone already. Off with that annoying woman… ugh! John just kept hating her more and more…

He could have at least text him…

John turned his phone over repetitively in the palm of his hand. If he knew the meeting place he could just get there himself.

[_HELLLLLLLOOOOOOOO?_]

He sent Sherlock, the dark haired man needed to respond NOW… this was just getting annoying…

"Bloody HELL!" John almost threw his phone, but thought better of it. He was really upset! How could Sherlock just do that….? Great friend he was… He only responded to him when it was most convenient for him to…

Damnit! Stupid Sherlock.

"Is something wrong dearie?" Mrs. Hudson walked into the room, looking somewhat afraid. John sighed and moved his hands down his face.

"I'm fine ." He grumbled.

"Where is Sherlock?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" The old woman took a step back, eyes widening slightly.

"Is that what has you all in a fuss now?" She smiled. "He left without telling you where he was going? And let me guess, that lovely woman is with him?"

John glared at her a bit, Irene was NOT lovely, She was a beast in woman's clothing! As far as john was concerned they could have solved the case without her. They didn't need her. Sherlock never needed anyone but him. But then he calls her in for help? No. they didn't need her…

"Oh sweetie~ you're jealous of her aren't you~?"

"No, I'm not."

"You're just denying it. Do you think Sherlock would be having an affair with her?"

"No! And besides, it wouldn't be an affair! I've already told you that I am not dating him."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and put a hand on John's shoulder.

"From the sounds of things, I think that you might want to look into it more John. Maybe…you should try it."

John tried to say something back to that, tried to say that he didn't feel that way towards Sherlock. But the words wouldn't come up. The only thing he could do was look down at his phone and wish that Sherlock would tell him something about where they were.

When he looked up again, Mrs. Hudson had left the room.

Ten minutes passed and John was getting extremely sick of this. Sherlock STILL hadn't text him back! That was it, he was going to find him! If there was anything he had learned from the other man, it was how to figure out things he hadn't been able to before. The only thing that he had to do was ask the cabbie who had driven him where he was.

* * *

_Spolier~_

_John gasped as the blade cut into his flesh. This couldn't be happening to him. It wasn't possible. Sherlock was supposed to be meeting the Ripper…but how was it that he was here…? Throat already feeling raw from screaming John could only hope that something…someone…would save him. No. He was an army man, he could handle this himself. He could escape. But…how could he escape if he was dead? AGH! The blood was pouring from his stomach. He was going to die. He was going to die. He hadn't even…Told Sherlock how he felt…_

"_AGH!"_

"_Doesn't it feel good Johnny boy~" _

"_SHERLOCK!"

* * *

_

Like i said, no regular updates yet so you'll have to wait. but even though i am not updating that much i still really do appreciate reviews! So if you could~ Tell me what you think of Irene, what you expect of her when she actually appears, are you curious to find out what happens to John? Do it and i may upload the next chapter soon~_ love you!  
_


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